Psy & Changelings 09 - Play of Passion

from Europe, those eyes were more often shuttered and introspective than laughing, and the only time she’d really seen him playful was when they’d done the run. Even when he’d been young, he’d been . . . intense.
    Not that it mattered, she told herself. Play was for boys and children. Riaz was a strong male in the prime of his life. Both sides of her nature found him more than acceptable . . . except, the wolf thought wistfully, a little more playfulness would’ve been nice. After all, he was a wolf, too. Play was part of their life. Shouldn’t he want to play with a female who attracted him?
    As she listened, he placed their order. All perfect. Until he said, “No dessert. We’ll go for coffee instead.”
    Her wolf sniffed. No dessert? Drew would’ve never made that mistake.
    She caught that thought as soon as it rose, nipped it before it could take root. Drew wasn’t only too young; he wasn’t dominant enough to be able to handle her wolf, despite what he thought. And as she’d seen up close and personal, such an imbalanced relationship couldn’t work—the emotional devastation would destroy them both, obliterating what friendship remained. There might even come a time when he’d look at her with barely concealed hate.
    Shoving aside the painful images evoked by those thoughts, she turned her attention very deliberately to Riaz. “Tell me more about what you did while you were away.”
    The other lieutenant began to speak, his voice low, deep, smooth as caramel. As he spoke, she let herself truly look at him. His skin glowed a burnished brown in the light from the candles, his near black hair sparking with auburn highlights. The stunning blonde three tables over was giving him the eye when she thought Indigo wasn’t watching, while the two gorgeous black women one table to the right didn’t even try to hide their admiration.
    Meeting Indigo’s gaze, they gave her a discreet thumbs-up. Indigo smiled back at the friendly appreciation, returning her focus to Riaz’s strong jawline, those beautifully shaped lips she’d once felt on her own. They’d been good as lovers, very good. But they’d parted as the best of friends. No broken hearts. No torn souls.
    It made her wolf halt in its thoughts, consider.
    Changeling wolves mated for life.
    Her parents’ relationship might not make sense to Indigo, but there wasn’t a shred of doubt in her mind that they loved each other to the core of their beings. More, that they fit together like two pieces of a separated whole—as if without one, there would be no other.
    She wanted that, she realized as she sat across from this incredible man who ticked all the right boxes, who’d make a good partner, but who would never be her heartbeat. She wanted the agony and the ecstasy, craved the ferocity of the bond that tied male to female in the most visceral way. Fear bloomed at the idea of the vulnerability that would accompany such a relationship, but it wasn’t enough to overwhelm the hunger in her soul.
    “Hey.”
    Blinking, she found Riaz watching her with a disconcertingly intent look. “Sorry,” she said, her cheeks burning with cold heat. “My mind drifted away for a second.”
    Riaz didn’t let her off the hook. “We’ve known each other too long to play games, Indigo.” Lifting his wineglass, he took a sip of the golden liquid. “We know this isn’t going to work—but we’re trying to pretend that it will because it’s easier, safer.”
    Hearing the echo of pain in his words, she reached out to touch his free hand—no matter what, he was her friend. He was Pack. “Who?”
    “My mate.”
    Indigo’s hand clenched on his. “You found her?”
    “Too late.” It was torn out of him, eyes gleaming amber in the flickering candlelight. “She’s another man’s wife, a good man.” Raw hurt in those words. “Not touching her, not simply taking her, was the hardest thing I’ve ever done—but she would’ve despised herself for cheating.”
    So he’d walked away, Indigo thought, though it was clear doing so had savaged him. “I’m sorry, Riaz.” She couldn’t imagine the nightmare he was living, knowing his mate belonged to someone else. Predatory male changelings were possessive beyond belief—it had to be torture to know that another man had the right to touch his mate, to build a life with her.
    “I wasn’t playing games with you, Indigo,” he said, turning his hand over so their fingers intertwined, his tone raw. “I